


Into the Penumbra

by nefarious_irusu



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Comfort, Coping, Cutting, Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Nightmares, One Shot, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Indulgent, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 17:24:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nefarious_irusu/pseuds/nefarious_irusu
Summary: If it weren't for you, she would still be alive.





	Into the Penumbra

Each night comes with cold sweats and whispers of words that he can't seem to forget. The cocktail of pills he had been prescribed after his first suicide attempt do nothing to quell the thoughts that caused it, but they do make his dreams more vivid and the sweat soak even deeper into his sheets.

When he wakes, gasping for air, Potya is always quick to jump onto his bed. She rubs her face against his damp cheeks, and Yuri takes solace in running his hand over her fur until she begins to purr. Once he is able to breathe again, he gets a glass of water and falls back asleep with the cat vibrating on his chest, curled up in a ball.

Yuri sleeps under the same roof as Viktor and Yuuri exactly eight times before they find out- he knows because he counts, each time worrying that he had woken them with his unsettling sleep. But they don't wake up, until the ninth night that Yuri sleeps there instead of Lilia's, where she and Yakov are fighting loudly enough to wake the neighbors.

_If it weren't for you, she would still be alive._

Yuri pants loudly as he throws the covers off his body, grimacing at the way the sheets cling to his back and stomach. He trembles as he blindly reaches for his cat, only to realize that she must have wandered from the guest room during the night.

“Potya?”

Yuri creeps down the hall on ballerina feet, graceful and cautious. He squints in the dim light of the hallway, quietly pursing his lips and making a kissing sound.

“Potya, come here- ah!”

Yuri flails as a hand lands on his shoulder, making him jump high enough that he nearly reaches the ceiling.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

Yuri blinks in the light that Yuuri flicks on, belatedly wiping the drying tears from his cheeks. He watches in horror as Yuuri's mouth forms a silent “o”, and his hand is back on Yuri's shoulder before he knows it.

“What happened, Yuri?”

Yuri swallows around the lump steadily forming in his throat. Yuuri's concern cuts him right in the center of his chest, threatening to split his ribs and go straight for his heart.

“Nothing.” It comes out cracked and soft. “I'm looking for Potya.”

Yuuri steps closer, his hesitant touch growing firmer. “Did you have a bad dream?” Yuuri asks, thumbing at the damp reminance of Yuri's tears.

Yuri lets out a shaky sigh, the shrivel of composure he had been managing to hold breaking into pieces with a single word; “yes.”

“It's okay,” Yuuri soothes, immediately wrapping Yuri in an embrace as he fights the tears trailing his cheeks. “It's okay, it was only a dream.”

Yuri shakes his head in the crook of Yuuri's neck, sobbing wetly onto his skin. “It was a memory,” he wails, “it wasn't just a dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He can't talk about it- not without completely losing control. He shakes his head, managing to stifle his tears for the time being. It's when he opens his mouth to reply that a door opens, and Viktor stumbles into the hall. Yuri wants to crawl under the floorboards and die of humiliation, being caught in such a vulnerable state by not just one, but the _both_ of them.

“Yura, what's going on?” Viktor whispers, easily rubbing the small of Yuri's back.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Yuri groans, unable to help leaning into the touch. “I had a nightmare and was looking for Potya.” 

“Do you want to-”

“I want to go back to bed,” Yuri interrupts, pulling out of the dual embrace. He waits until he is almost out of earshot to add, “thanks.”

He hears them whispering out in the hall, and he blocks it out the best he can. He breathes in slow, even breaths, and tries to convince himself that he's okay. Yuri pretends to be asleep when Yuuri creeps into his room, gently setting Potya on the bed to lie with him. She curls up in a ball on his chest, a comfort that lulls him to sleep for real.

 

Yuuri is more perceptive than Viktor- that much is obvious. When Yuri stops fleeing to their apartment, the place that has been a safe haven from Lilia's, Yuuri is quick to notice.

“Can we talk for a moment?” He corners Yuri in the hallway after practice one day, after nearly everyone else has gone home.

The terribly gentle expression on his face keeps Yuri from saying anything nastier than a bitter “about what?”

“You haven't been coming over lately,” Yuuri whispers, glancing down the hall as if to be sure that they are alone. “Is it because of what happened?”

Yuri scoffs, kicking at the floor. “Nothing _happened_ ,” he barks. “I had a shitty dream, that's it.”

Yuuri nods, but doesn't let up. “I know, but… you aren't really comfortable showing emotion around anyone and you were really upset and… I just want to make sure that you weren't avoiding us because of it.”

The words sting, the accuracy of them making Yuri realize just how transparent he could be. And here he thought he had been putting up a good tough act. He sighs, desperately trying not to let anymore of his pathetic _feelings_ leak through again.

“I don't give a shit that you saw me cry. I've seen you cry a dozen times.”

Yuuri blinks, opening his mouth and then shutting it again. He purses his lips before trying again. “I know you have,” he finally answers. “And there's nothing wrong with crying.”

It isn't defensive, but Yuri still barks, “I didn't say there was, pig.”

Yuuri ignores the nickname, taking a more blatant approach. “Will you stay over tonight? We'll order whatever you want for dinner.”

Damn Yuuri and his nefarious ways, bribing Yuri with junk food. Yuri kicks the ground again, sighing with a dramatic wave of his hands. “Fine,” he groans, “we're getting garlic knots with the pizza… and soda!”

Yuuri grins, his chocolate eyes shining behind sapphire frames. “You got it.”

 

The hallway of Yuri's childhood home was never ending. The faded, flowered wallpaper went on forever, the doors repeating and leading to the same three rooms. The staircase was non-existent, and no matter how many times Yuri walked through the same loop, it was impossible to escape.

“Daddy?” He called out, his hands brushing the dusty walls as he walked. “Papa?”

The door on his left was his bedroom- the walls were blue and the ceiling white, with a blue circular rug on top of a worn, wooden floor. The walls were littered with posters of superheros and dinosaurs, and his toys were scattered all about. His father wasn't there- he never was.

The room to the right was the bathroom. The tiles were once white, but had faded into a yellow tint. The shower was always dripping, and Yuri could hear it from across the hall when he tried to sleep. _Drip, drop. Drip, drop._

The door at the end to the left was cracked just enough that a sliver of light peeked through. Yuri swallowed as he approached, calling out once more, “Daddy?”

Yuri shook as his trembling hand pushed the door open, the creaking making his father turn towards him. He stood in the center of the bedroom, in front of the queen sized bed. A lopsided grin painted his face, the closest thing to a smile that Yuri ever saw him wear.

“Papa…”

“If it weren't for you, she would still be alive.”

Yuri trembled as his father lifted his hand, revealing the silver pistol he had hidden behind his back. He pointed it at Yuri, at first, and Yuri trembled as the pistol shook, guided by his father's spastic, shaking hand.

“You should be dead instead.”

The gun flipped positions in seconds, being thrust upwards into his father's open mouth. Yuri's ears rang with the force of the gunshot, and he screamed as his father's blood splattered onto the ceiling above and his body fell onto the bed below.

Yuri is panting when he wakes, tears streaking his face as he fights to find his lungs. He whimpers pathetically, still unable to control himself as the ten-year-old memory replays itself in his mind once more.

“Dad,” he rasps, clutching his hand to his chest.

Yuri eventually finds the strength to rise, making his way into the hallway. He stands outside of Viktor and Yuuri's bedroom door for five minutes, his hand raised and ready to knock for at least one of those minutes. But he can't bring himself to wake them up to comfort him, no matter how badly his heart aches for it.

He can't find Potya, so he gets Makkachin from her doggy bed instead. He leads her to the guest room, her nails clacking noisily on the hardwood floor. Back in bed, she curls up at his feet with a whiny yawn. Eventually, Yuri manages to fall back into a fitful sleep.

 

“Are you tired?”

Yuuri's hand is gentle as it brushes away a stray lock of hair, tucking it behind Yuri's ear. He scowls and jerks away from the touch, his hands fiddling with the handle of his coffee mug. He glances from Viktor to Yuuri and then back again, shaking his head.

“I'm fine,” he mumbles.

Yuuri's eyes melt him, and Yuri struggles to take another sip of his coffee. Before he knows it, Viktor is on his other side, rubbing his upper back. “I'm not feeling very well,” he murmurs. “I think I'm going to take a half day at the rink.” He pauses, only continuing when Yuri doesn't bite. “I think you should come home with me, too.”

Yuri wants to tell him to fuck off, that he can take care of himself. He wants to shove away from Viktors comforting touch, to scowl. But instead, he shrugs. He is too tired from another sleepless night to argue before he's had his coffee. “Whatever, I'll think about it.”

At one o'clock, Viktor and Yuri head home.

“Want to put something on T.V?” Viktor flops onto the couch, and Yuri follows after him.

Yuri shakes his head, tossing the remote to Viktor. “Just put on whatever you want.”

Viktor flips to a random channel before setting the remote on the arm of the couch and moving closer to Yuri. Yuri holds his breath for as long as he can as the comforting warmth of Viktors arms wrap around him, and he resists the urge to completely melt against his frame. He's tired, and Viktor feels like a weighted blanket, or a warm bed, or-

“Tell me what's been going on, Yura,” Viktor whispers against Yuri's scalp, his lips pressing a succinct kiss to his crown.

Yuri fights himself- his heart exhausted and wanting to spill its guts all over Viktor, and his head reminding him that he didn't spill his guts to _anyone_. He only realizes that he's made a distressed sound once Viktor pulls him closer, practically onto his lap.

“It's alright,” he soothes softly. “You can talk to me.”

His head wins, but his heart forces it into a compromise. Yuri sinks against Viktor, but refuses to say a word. He buries his face in Viktors shirt and lets the smell of his cologne intoxicate him, but not enough to lose his inhibitions. To the smell of coconut, a soft hum, and the quiet drawl of the television, Yuri begins to drift to sleep.

 

“You should be dead instead.”

Not a single tear prickled in Yuri's eyes as the tiles on the bathroom floor begam to swim together. His heart pounded inside him, fighting to break through his ribs. He ran the blade in his hand across his bare wrist with a trembling touch, the cold metal causing goosebumps to rise on his pale skin.

“I should,” he whispered to no one.

If he had died instead of his mother, both she and his father would both be alive today. Alive and _happy_. Yuri never made his father happy, he never made _anyone_ happy. His life was a burden to all that it touched, spreading like toxic fumes.

“Grandpa,” he whispered as he teased his skin once more. “I'm sorry.”

He wasn't apologizing for leaving him, no. He finally worked up the courage to slice into his skin, and he gasped from the sudden pain. Crimson dotted across his wrist, soon forming a line. That line bled out and dripped over the side of his arm, petering onto the tiles. The room began to spin as he sliced himself again, creating another identical line.

“I'm sorry, Grandpa,” he whispered again as his vision started to grey. “I'm sorry you'll have to clean up my mess.”

 

Yuri awakens scrambling, jolting upright and grabbing his wrist to try and control the bleeding. He realizes belatedly, as he is pulled back into a warm touch, that there was no bleeding to stop- all that remains are the scars.

“Yura, shh, I'm here.”

Yuri sobs, a guttural sound that rocks him as he kicks himself for being weak enough to fall asleep. Viktor only holds him tighter, as if his arms can keep Yuri from falling to pieces. He clings to Viktors shirt desperately, trying to stop the tears that have started to trail down his cheeks.

“Should I leave you alone?”

Yuri heaves dryly as he hears Yuuri's unsure whisper, once again caught in his weakest state by the both of them. The frustrated whine that escapes isn't his, and he buries his face deeper in Viktors shirt. Viktors fingers ground him as they slide through his hair.

“My gold, do you want Yuuri to leave?”

Yuri almost snorts; he turns into a weeping mess _one time_ and Viktor is already resorting to embarrassing pet names? He shrugs, calming down the slightest bit. Why bother sending Yuuri away? Viktor is sure to tell him every embarrassing detail later on, anyway.

The couch dips slightly as Yuuri joins them, and Yuri dares to peek out from Viktors shirt. Yuuri looks close to tears, himself, chocolate eyes hurting. Yuri sighs as Yuuri reaches out hesitantly, barely brushing the small of his back for comfort.

“Are you having thoughts about hurting yourself again?” Viktor whispers.

So he had noticed the way Yuri was grasping at his scars. He shakes his head, burying his face back in Viktors chest. “I was dreaming about it,” he admits.

Viktor hums softly, and Yuuri's touch becomes firmer. “We're here for you, Yuri,” he whispers.

He knows that- it's just hard for him to accept their comfort. It's hard to accept any form of comfort or affection, sixteen years too late. He sighs raggedly, forcing the lump in his throat down into his chest.

“I'm fine,” he whispers. “I'm not going to try and off myself again, okay?” He intends the words to come out with more bite, but they waver and shake instead.

“Something's been bothering you, though.” Viktors tone doesn't leave any room for dispute.

“It's the same shit as always,” Yuri adjusts himself so that he is sitting up straighter. “It comes in waves. I'm fine.”

Yuri doesn't miss the glance that Yuuri and Viktor exchange, though it's clear that he was supposed to. “Is that what your dream was about the other week, too?” Yuuri dares to ask.

Yuri sucks in a sharp breath. Viktor knows what happened to Yuri's father- so Yuuri must, too. He manages to shake his head and whisper, “no, that one was about my dad.”

“Your dad,” Yuuri echoes. “He passed away, right? I'm really sorry, Yuri. That must have been re-”

“He blew his brains out in front of me after pointing the gun at me, first,” Yuri blurts out before he can stop himself.

Yuuri gasps, and the air in the room goes stagnant. Maybe Viktor hadn't told him all the details, after all. All the air leaves Yuri's lungs in an instant as Yuuri pulls him close. He goes limp in the tight embrace.

“I'm so sorry, Yuri. I didn't know.”

“Cut it out,” Yuri grumbles. He knows how close to breaking he is already, and he'll only get there quicker the more he lets them baby him. “I'm fine, it was ten years ago. It's over with.”

“But you still have nightmares,” Viktor cuts in softly. “You aren't fine, Yura.”

Yuri shrugs, resting his head against Yuuri's shoulder. “I guess I just can't forget.”

Silence comes over them for a while, and though Yuri is comfortable, his eyes don't start to droop. Viktor and Yuuri don't press him to talk any further, but they don't diminish their touches, either. After a while, it is Yuuri who speaks.

“I know we can't make the dreams stop, and we can't make you forget. But we're here for you, even if you just don't want to be alone after a nightmare or if you're having a rough day.”

Yuri's throat starts to swell again. “I know,” he mumbles.

“We don't have to talk about it unless you want to,” Viktor adds.

It is then that Yuri decides that their silent embrace is enough.

 

Yuri awoke to bandages tight on his arm and vision that was clouded with spots. He coughed and sputtered when he tried to speak, until a glass of water was held to his lips.

“Drink,” whispered a familiar voice.

He did, and his vision began to clear as his throat moistened. He took a few long swallows before leaning back against the pillows, groaning as the room spun around him.

“What are you doing here?” Belatedly, he wondered, _what am I doing here?_

“Your grandpa stepped out for a little bit, to get some coffee.” Viktor sat in a chair next to Yuri's hospital bed, running his fingers over the sheets. “Yakov and Mila are here too, in the waiting area.”

Yuri looked down at his wrist, swallowing hard as he remembered what he had tried to do. He had failed, unlike his father. He couldn't even off himself properly.

“Why did you do this to yourself, Yura?”

Yuri had never seen Viktor this close to tears. He gripped the hospital sheets, staring down at them instead of looking at Yuri. Yuri could still see the tears that dotted the corners of his eyes, ready to spill over at any second.

“My dad was right,” he whispered, “I should have died instead of her.”

Viktor shook his head, tiny dots darkening the sheets where his tears began to fall. “No, Yura, he wasn't right. He was a sick man, and it had nothing to do with you. He was sick long before you were even born.”

Yuri shook his head, staring down at his lap. “Grandpa just says that so I don't feel bad.”

The sound that escaped Viktor sounded like a sob, and Yuri grit his teeth at the realization that he had only succeeded in causing everyone more pain and trouble. “No, he says it because it's true. Because he loves you and he wishes that you would realize that you aren't a burden. He wouldn't trade you for the world.”

Yuri's hand crept closer to where Viktors still gripped the sheets, and he remained silent as Viktor threaded their fingers together.

“You have so many people who would be devastated if you were gone. So many people that love you.”

Yuri tried his best to believe him.

 

Yuri wipes the tears from his cheeks and quietly pads across the guest room floor. The hardwood is cold against his bare feet in the hall, and he shivers. Outside of their bedroom door, he listens, his hand frozen in a knocking position.

“We're here for you, even if you just don't want to be alone after a nightmare.”

Yuri finally knocks, so quiet that he is shocked to get a reply.

“Come in.”

Yuuri is rubbing his eyes as Viktor flicks on the bedside lamp, eyes narrowing with concern. “Are you okay, Yura?”

Yuri nods, shuffling in place in the doorframe. Thankfully, Yuuri seems to understand him through the silence. He moves over, making a space between himself and Viktor. He pats it softly, and Yuri sighs at the invitation.

It's warm between them, and even warmer when Viktor curls against his side. Yuuri cards his fingers through his hair, whispering words in his native tongue that Yuri can't understand. Viktors breath is warm and steady against the back of his neck; he has already fallen back asleep.

Enveloped in safety, Yuri lets himself follow close behind.


End file.
